


The Nine Lives of Miranda Morgan, former Madame

by SwimmingTiger



Category: sso Wild West AU - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-14 07:31:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingTiger/pseuds/SwimmingTiger
Summary: When Revenge is sought, two graves are dug.....sometimes more.(piecemeal account based on the New Jorvik Historical Societies findings, journals unearthed by Nevada Jones, and students of [name redacted] Community College)





	1. Chapter 1

We have all heard the legends of the Western Era: Cowboys, Train Robbers, Gold Miners, Card Sharks, Sharp Shooters... and Soiled Doves. Some think there were town brothels that commanded most of the earnings of the town whether it was a welcomed establishment or not.

Recently I've been looking into the town of New Jorvik- a quiet little village, populated mainly with immigrants from Jorvik Island, a desolate rock located somewhere in Scandinavia, I'm told, famous for its horses and its superstitions. Like many before them, they braved the voyage across the Atlantic, then the vast Frontier, landing smack in the middle of the “Wild West”. The rest of the town, what we can muster from the remaining archives, was a combination of Easterners, Native Americans, and Mexican-Americans (displaced Californios, we believe). It's important to note, that the events in the timeline varies, depending on the writer. It's apparent there were several townsfolk (or curious outsiders) chronicling the lives of the people of New Jorvik. We have detailed notes on the goings-on of the farmers and horsemen (and women) living there, and a few of the gang of (mostly female) criminals living somewhere in the outskirts. Thanks in part to these writings (which we saved from the ashes of a long burned establishment in a forest just East of the town), we have an almost complete timeline of New Jorvik, from its humble beginnings, to the events that brought the town together to face a threat that sounds almost … supernatural, to its decline as a mining town, before it finally succumbed to its eventual current state: Ghost town.

Though the brothel, the Calico, stood towering over most of New Jorvik, and though it was purported to have housed over a thousand women (and some men) in its hey day, there is very little written on the Madams or Madam in charge. It was originally built as a posh hotel, records have traced it to being ordered built by a “Baroness” Annabelle Silverglade (whom, we believe, would not have had any part in the ownership of a brothel), before being turned into a very large, very prosperous 'house of ill repute', run by a “Madame Miranda”. Our records also indicate that after her death, the house was taken over by some of her “charges”, and turned into a boarding house, or rather a hostile, for women and girls.

_Side Note: We have seen and have on record many MANY indications that the town of New Jorvik, its neighbor Little Hillcrest, and a town further South – New Dundell- were often regarded as safe havens for young women and girls. All over the West, instances of forced marriage, misogyny, and other such atrocities were rampant, almost everywhere but these towns, founded by the Jorvigians. It is theorized that because they brought a female-centric religion with them (we call it “the Cult of Aideen”), girls felt protected under the shelter of the Jorvigians, and that most who lived within the towns boundaries followed these unspoken rules, perhaps due in part to their worship of a female deity. Again, theories, however I've found in my research that most, if not all of the written records were done by female scholars. In fact, most of Jorvik seemed to be owned or run by women. Even the brothel, we are finding, was considered a “safe zone”, as the madame in question (judging from our notes) was exceedingly protective of her employees. (Almost to the point where we wondered if it was actually a brothel at all? But I digress...)_

The Calico's Madame was somewhat of a Mystery. For starters, up until recently there was no mention, anywhere, of a surname. There were stories and journal entries (most sounded like fiction) about “the madame living a double life”, and that “she owned a prosperous ranch nearby and made most of her money in cattle and horse breeding rather than 'whoreing'”, and “should she walk through town without her satin finery not a soul would recognize her”. Its doubtful that a woman of her stature (and occupation) would not be recognized by townsfolk whom- by all accounts- were a relatively bright and educated bunch. She seemed almost a made-up character in some Western Novella. And this is where I began my research in earnest, thanks in part to the documents and journals that our dear friend Nevada Jones (A supposed descendant of one of the Jorvigians), has unearthed in one of her many digs in the area around where New Jorvik once stood.

Madame Miranda, as she was best known, was NOT a native Jorvigian or Native American. She WAS in fact a real life person. And her life was as eventful as one might imagine. In this essay I will

 

                                                                                                                                      Incomplete (I expected more out of you- see me after class) 

 


	2. Dragonflies and Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students of (Redacted) Community College delve further into "Mirandas" history by studying journals and letters about a visit paid by a dear friend.

In a journal written by a "Virginia Jones", who was believed to be a daughter in law of archaeologist and explorer, Mississippi Jones, but also the author of several books on Indigenous culture and legends, we have a possible account of what was either the last few months of "Madame Mirandas" life, or an indication that someone has taken the mantle of "Miranda" and was acting in her stead. 

The earlier and later entries are believed to be before and after the "great battle" for New Jorvik, though there is no discernible date on these entries. Also It appears as though she rambled when she was less than stimulated.

Virginia and her husband had spent some time in South America, and was traveling with a caravan of Spaniards (we think?) after she had been left to be "babysat" in a grand estate in Guatemala while her husband followed a lead about the lost city of El Dorado. From what we know now, he was off by about a thousand miles, but I digress. There are numerous entries, botanical sketches, portraits and landscape watercolors of her journey through Southern Mexico, from her time with the Gadea and De Arana families. The Gadea family were purveyors of horses, picking up mares and stallions for breeding purposes. we shall look into the Gadea family history at a later time. The De Aranas, we believe, were friends to the Madames family. They were prosperous but it would seem that Mrs. Jones could never quite figure out where their fortunes came from, and that she wrote them off as possibly some lower ranking Spanish royalty. She spoke of their wit, their generosity, and their willingness to keep her safe in her travels, and her possible flirtation with Guillermo Gadea, whom she bonded with over their love of horses and racing. It appeared she became very good friends with a Matriarch of the De Arana clan, who graciously allowed her to share her own private quarters on the ship from Tampico to Mustang Island, in Texas. Virginia, unfortunately, parted ways with the group shortly after their arrival in New Jorvik, and said her goodbyes in order to continue north to connect with fellow Joneses, but letters unearthed recently provide a bit more information. 

_"Monday. It has been some three weeks since my dear Wash took his expedition deep into the jungles in search of the Gold of El Dorado and I must say, though he warned of danger and peril, I think I would prefer that I had joined him and we perished together rather than sit here at the State house and be forced to endure another afternoon of embroidery with the stuffy old lady of the house. She is British, which is fine, after a fashion, but has very staunch views on what a woman should or shouldn't do for entertainment. It may be in fact that she is feeling out of place here but while I sympathize, I can say with certainty that she would find wonderous things were she to ever take leave if the estate. It is, I admit, grand and luxurious in its accommodations but there is little to do but make conversation and work at ... well, I would call it spinsters work, tatting lace and embroidering doilies. She even shooed me from the kitchens when I attempted to learn from the staff how their fine native cuisine was made! I find I may perish, but of boredom, were it possible. (I fail to understand how FOOD can be considered improper)_

_Just the other day, I was inquiring as to whether some men may be assembled that are ready and able to escort me to some of the rather lovely caves and rivers present, nearby, in order that I may do some watercolors and document some of the vegetation. This woman! She squawked protest so loudly she frightened a flock of the marvelous green parrots that live in the surrounding trees and gather on the balcony in search of crumbs from breakfast and tea. (Note to self: Bring one of these parrots with me when we go.)  But anyhow, after restraining myself from the argument we are destined to have, a group of young men arrived on horseback, announcing, quite formally, visitors of the state who wished lodging for a night or two. The lady, for some reason, practically flew to order the maids to clean and cook and hustle and bustle. She may not be the most gracious hostess when left with one abandoned wife of an Jorvegian adventurer, but when it came to quite literally anyone else, she was determined to provide hospitality worthy of visiting royalty. And that is who I assumed was visiting, given the amount of polishing and dusting and preparations that happened until the wee hours of the evening. It was almost exciting, for a moment there. I wondered what manner of boring, haughty lords and prim and priggish ladies this visit will bring. Ah well. At least its something new._

_Tuesday. Of course I couldn't help myself, I had to go and greet these strangers, even though I was not bound by blood or kinship. Truth be told I am glad I did! What a sight to behold! When the deep emerald overgrowth parted, beautifully painted wagons, GILT wagons, with streaming ribbons of crimson satin floated through. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. An army of horses accompanied them, gorgeous, shining, high stepping beasts, being driven by the most handsome specimens of men I have ever laid sight of. (I do admit I love my Washington but these bronzed gods, Vaqueros they called them, were tall, muscled and striking in their carriage). Wearing short bolero coats with bright brass buttons and flat, wide-brimmed hats, they leapt from the horses with ease and grace and made deep bows to the Lady and I (and I believe they would be the type to kiss our knuckles were it not for the dour expression of the lady). One could swear she rolled her eyes at the spectacle. But I am not the type to swear..._

_The wagons circled the courtyard and lined up before the Lady of the house. Her Husband (a man of Spanish and German descent, and a governor- though of what province or people is a mystery) arose from his alcohol drenched slumber to greet their guests, though he perked up when the 'Senora' stepped down from the largest of the vehicles. She was all in black, as one might expect from a widow, but with a dress in a lower cut than is custom. She wore her raven colored hair in a top knot, and without the traditional "Mantilla" veil that the Spanish ladies wear. She was cinched in the middle by tight corsetry and had glowing golden skin and dark almond shaped eyes. The Man of the house could not keep his eyes from her overflowing bosom, and I must admit, I felt my own, briefly, almost in shame for its lacking. She made no false smiles, and her lips, painted as red as the garnets and rubies circling her neck, maintained a neutral, almost disappointed expression. No one announced her, which is what the Lady is accustomed to, but rather she approached and announced herself, la Senora de la casa de Arania, with Senor Lorenzo de Gadea, her traveling companion and escort. They were traveling through Guatemala, into Mexico and were offered room and safe passage across the beleaguered border, with official stamped letters stating so, from the capitol. The Gadeas came forth, and with bright smiles, kissed hands _and _cheeks, with a warmth that was genuine, and contagious. (Though the Lady seemed flustered by this). The Senora de Arania merely bowed slightly and thanked them for their courtesy._ _Though I know nothing of her name or title, myself and the handmaid assigned to me are making the assumption that with the way she carries herself, she must be VERY important back in Spain. I shall take stock of her at dinner, as now I must take tea with the Lady. Interesting to note: The Senora De Arania has declined to take tea with us. Curious._

_Dinner was an experience! The Senora de Arania was much more pleasant once they had rested and been served dinner, making jokes at the Man of the Houses expense, calling for libations to continue to flow well past the dessert Brandy, and insisting that the Lady of the house drink at least one drink with us, for courtesy's sake (the old dame never argues with etiquette. I should have said that "courtesy dictates" she provide a tour of the neighboring areas!) Her English was impeccable, and I learned that she was educated in America and was returning to meet with her betrothed in a place called Phoenix! Oh how grand a place this must be, I think, to be named for a mythological fire bird! And speaking of birds, her party brought with them many caged feathered parrots (So beautiful, they are like boxed rainbows!), and some small furry beasties she called "Chinchellus". They were droll and soft creatures, which she collected in Peru to keep as pets (I do hope it is for companionship and not their very dense fur).  By the time she offered me a green talking parrot to keep as my own I found myself starting to be beguiled by her. She made pleasant conversation with everyone at the table and as she was occupied with charming the lot of us, I tried to determine her age. She seemed quite wise and mature, yet her skin held no folds as the Lady of the House' did. The Senora wore a magnificent dress to dinner, black and crimson, in a style I had seen when Wash and I made port in Louisiana- it reminded me of the ladies going to Cotillion in the French Quarter. The dress made an hourglass shape of her person, with a deeply diving neckline and large puffed sleeves. I made the assumption that she favored French styles to the more modest Spanish ones (also that these were French styles). The Lady seemed put off by this fashion and made great effort to look everywhere but. Quite amusing. I am guessing she has a few more years than my own 25, but less then our dear Hostess. Who, if I were to guess, was a century old, at the least._

_Guillermo, the young son of the Gadeas, seemed thrilled to meet a Jorvikian, as he had heard of this place where horses are almost worshiped, and made a vow to visit one day. I told him that the residents of New Jorvik were just as fond of horses as their mother country, and that is when Senora (rather, Senorita, as she is unwed) De Arania turned her attention back to us. She had an old dear friend there and was planning on paying a visit before her wedding. And oh my stars, she asked if I would like to travel with them! Imagine- me, traipsing through the jungles of Mexico and the badlands of Texas!  Almost as though I were on an expedition of my own! By this time the Lady of the house was nodding off, having imbibed one to many "tekeelas", and was ushered to bed by the maid. It is a good thing, too, as she likely would have nixed the idea at once._

_After this, we retreated to the gaming parlour, where the Senorita took out a deck of beautiful gilded-edged cards. We played some rounds of Faro with the few members of their party that were still awake. When the Man of the house fell asleep in his great velvet chair, the Senorita De Arania helped herself to a couple of his cigarellos, offering one to myself and Guillermo. I felt so mischevious! (though it made me cough a great deal) I found myself quite drawn in, by her charm and duality. That is to say, she was cheeky and almost mannish when our hosts were present, but softer and more tender as the night wore on and the company dwindled. Guillermo was more reserved, ever polite, and wished to continue our earlier conversation, but the Senorita insisted that the three of us explore the house, making a game of seeing which rooms we could quietly enter, and what treasures were hidden within. It was quite the expedition, as my Hosts had golden idols and religious icons in almost every room in the house.  At one point we found ourselves in a parlor with a phrenology bust, and she made a joke of loosing my hair to "read my skull". She also took my hand and "read my palm". I must say, I heavily blushed, when she said I was an adventurous girl, as much so as my husband, and that soon I would find I could not be contained, and one day may be as famous and well traveled as he. As I write this I admit I may have forgotten much of the rest of that night, as the drinks were quite potent and I was, at one point, swaying and struggling to stay afloat. I do recall Guillermo saying he was retiring to his chamber, and him clumsily bowing and kissing my hand goodnight, and its possibly his gave me a little rather unseemly kiss on the nape of my neck, but that could have been my mind playing tricks on me. The last I remember was the Senorita helping me from my gown and into bed. I believe I invited her to stay with me, as it was chilly and I did not want the night to end.."_

Some pages were torn from the journal at this point, but it continues a week later. 

_"On Monday we depart for America! We! Myself and my new partners the De Aranias and the Gadeas shall go into Mexico City, then head east to the coast, and secure a ship for passage into Texas, where we will have more meager accommodations for travel la Senorita tells me. She would prefer not to draw attention to their wealth in the states. It is taking every ounce of restraint I have to wait patiently til Monday comes._

_As it was our plan all along to continue our Journey to New Jorvik, that Wash may visit with his family there, I left word for my husband that I was taking leave earlier than anticipated and that I was in good company and safe, and to not worry after me. I had packed all my dresses and my new green parrot, hugged the Lady with more enthusiasm than I felt and thanked her graciously for her hospitality. The husband roused himself from his vices for the second time in a month and came to bid us farewell. The Senorita de Arania gave him a rather boisterous hug and a kiss on each cheek, much to the ladies chagrin. He then tried to offer me a farewell in the same fashion but I bent and contorted to avoid his lips and I believe they landed somewhere behind my ear, on a tendril of hair._

_Sweet Guillermo had come along to offer me his arm, and a seat with the only two women in his party- two proper, middle aged ladies who had taken absolutley no notice of me while they were at the estate. I politely declined and loitered instead around the De Arania party, and soon after I was happily boarding the Senoritas rather regal carriage (on her insistance). I settled myself down into the lush, embroidered cushions with my pens and ink and journals, fully prepared to spend most of my time sleeping or gawking at the scenery, as the inbetweens of travel tend to be tedious and boring. But it was not. Not with my new friend, not in the first few days. She asked many questions about my youth and my beliefs and my husband and my hometown and my family. She gazed intently as I formulated responses that would not bore her and shied away from anything too personal. I tried to ask her questions and she would, quite masterfully, distract me with a tickle, or change the subject to something less than savory, causing fits of laughter. Often she would bring up a new topic entirely. She was not in the least concerned about being appropriate. To my amusement, I heard much of her former husbands disappointing performance in the boudoir. (Note: I suppose she IS a widow, thought she has made no mention of what became of him?)_

_And_ (several sentences have been scratched out) _I have never been_ _one for vanity, though I made sure my person was always neat and tidy and clean as one could be while traveling. I generally look fine and do not consider myself a great beauty by any respect. I was resigned to simply looking the way I did, with no feature outstanding or remarkable. Senorita de Arania made great efforts to change all that. She was very complimentary, and spoke of how she admired my eyes, which were the color of the sky at twilight. She would have me sit before her so she could brush and braid my hair, murmuring about how when it catches the light it shines gold. How she thought my freckled skin was soft as a rose petal, as she would stroke my hand to get my attention. I found myself looking out of the window at the glorious jungle scenery quite often, but did look up to gaze upon her beauty more frequently. If you were to press me for an answer, I could not tell you what was better: sitting across from her and being able to take in her presence, or when she bid me to join her so we could lay in each others arms for afternoon naps. Such soft and splendid company was she. And what a funny thing- every so often she would call out to one of the riders and coyly ask if he should like to switch places with me? That I may ride through the green astride a horse, while he rested in the shade with the Senorita. I relished the opportunity to ride like a cowboy through along the caravan, and the Vaqueros were always very grateful that I was willing to give up my seat. Though they did not all speak English, they were able to make their sentiments known. They sing along the carriage sometimes, beautiful poetic ballads to our Senorita and I. It is divine._

_At one point, and I am almost too embarrassed to mention it, I was making a watercolor of a specimin of flower we were passing quite frequently, and the Senorita seemed bored and petulant that I was paying more attention to a plant than to herself. She was joking and playful about it, throwing small bundles of paper at me as I painted and though I laughed I was determined to get the details correctly. When I looked up, she had disrobed down to naught but her stockings and rubies, and asked if I would like to paint a Lily instead? Yes I giggled and flushed but my dear journal, for the sake of keeping the integrity of this memory intact I did indeed paint her.  It turned out splendidly, I must say. I felt like a classical painter of old, with my traveling companion as my saucy muse. Splendid indeed._

(Authors note: This particular painting, if it exists, was NOT among the archives)

_On occasion my dear Guillermo would join us, and we would play cards, or talk of horses, or just sip from her supply of wines and speak of nonsense. I had never really a fondness for the drink but do enjoy a fine wine, now and again. I think maybe the Senorita is in the business of vineyards, as the climate in South America would be ideal for that. What I dislike is that when I have a glass, I find that I write less and my memories are garbled. In the future I must be cautious of how much I imbibe._

_Anyhow, after the debacle at the border into Mexico (the Guatemalans and the Mexican Government are fighting over where the border lies), the Senorita relaxed a bit. She was carrying tension in her forehead and shoulders when we approached the borders. I thought for a moment that she would stowe me in the secret space underneath my seat- an ingenious hidden compartment under the upholstered bench- as she had on a few occasions when strange riders would approach, I would lay my head on a small wooden chest hidden within, and she would cover me with silk shawls and blankets. She did not, though she allowed Senor Gadea to speak for our party as well as provide the papers and documents. She sat and held my hand as we waited and the carriages were searched, briefly. She DID don a Mantilla and elegant ebony comb that day, in addition to a less revealing dress. With the veil over her face and her collar so tight on her neck it seemed to choke her, she appeared as staunch and almost as old as my previous hostess. When the soldiers at the border found nothing to object to (in addition to, I believe, accepting bribes of some horses and crates of wine), we passed without incident._

_Mexico, at least this part, looked very much like Guatemala, and then would switch into vast expanses of desert. I spent much of the time entertaining the Senorita. She began to speak of our journey by ship and that I should not expect much of Texas. That America would not be interesting until we neared New Jorvik. She was joshing, I feel. We did make a few stops at some of the grand Spanish churches along the way to Mexico City, where our Senorita would insist on going to confession. She made us wait in the carriages. She did not seem to want to accept the invitations from the statesmen that were extended, via riders, as we passed through, but rather we would stop briefly for supplies then make our hasty way through. It was in the smaller towns that the Senorita seemed more obliging to stop and visit. She would wear simpler dresses, eat more heartily and leave gifts for the humble churches. Bejeweled crosses, icons painted with gold leaf (much like the ones they have on display at the Spanish churches), and even gifts of gold coin I believe. Guillermo would ponder out loud that one would think she had beginnings here and not in Spain, and was paying her respects to her elders. She even spoke in a tongue he did not recognize. We said these things in confidence, and never to her. It was not important at the time._

_In Mexico City they sold three of the carriages and we condensed our belongings into the five that remained. I began to wonder about our traveling companions. I knew most were Gadeas but her own entourage was puzzling. There were a few ladies in waiting and several men that seemed more for security than any relation to Senorita De Arania. While there she said goodbye to several of the men and a few of the ladies and we continued, a more compact party but I, still in the same wonderful company of Guillermo and the Senorita. Guillermo was closer to my age than I first thought. His appearance is quite young and his behavior more so. He seems more excited about horses and riding than travel and adult relations, the Senorita mused, once, and he laughed (full of wine at the time) and said he had yet to meet someone who sparked his interest the way a good close race did. He then mumbled "present company excluded"  and we all chuckled, knowing full well he was enjoying our company as much as we, his. I am not one to begrudge someone their interests. Not after my month spent with old Sour Puss._

_Another odd thing- the Senorita made a stop at the orphanage in Mexico City, and adopted two small boys. She then referred to them as her sons for the rest of the trip, and began to tell people (from what I could gather) that I was their governess. I suppose this is less questionable than saying she kidnapped a random Jorvegian women for her own amusement as she traveled. Though her ladies in waiting cared for the children in evenings, I did give some lessons in English and Etiquette each morning. The Senorita did not object."_

The journal dwindles, as it would seem, as mentioned before, that she wrote less when she was engaged then when she was idle. Entire pages are missing as well. She spoke of the transfer to the ship, the smooth ride to Texas and then the Lady De Arana's (I'm certain it was 'Arana', the Spanish word for spider, oddly enough, and she was trying to spell it phonetically. There is no record for a family De Arania, but a few warrants and criminal records for a De Arana. Uncertain if they were related) conversion back into her "Widows garb" for much of Texas. The journaling is revived once they left Texas, and went north and west towards New Jorvik. There it continues thusly:

_"We are not long for arrival into the area of New Jorvik, and My Senorita has taken on a different manner than the one she wore for most of the trip. She explained that the last time she was there, everyone was more traditional, more like my Lady Hostess back home, although her family had not stayed long in the town this was the impression she was left with. In Texas, it was expressed that the place was wild and dangerous for women traveling alone, so she had struck a deal with the Gadeas to travel as a group. She said so many things to me, as I lay in the carriage with my head in her lap. That we were women out of place in time. And that we were two wild flowers while everyone else was content to sit perfectly still in a manicured garden, and she made me promise to never lose my wild spirit. This contented me, as we had grown quite fond of one another. Even though she was sending me back to my in laws and, eventually, my husband, and as she was off to prepare for her own matrimony, she vowed that I would always be her little Paloma, her caged dove. But once we reached Jorvik she would let me free to fly._

_And this she did. We stopped the vehicles on the Main street, across from a boarded up General store, and she paid some young men to inquire in town after her dear friend. We watched from the carriage, bundled together in her fine embroidered shawls as her sons napped on the bench across from us, while they ran from door to door knocking and asking for the woman she named. And at each door, we watched as the townsfolk shook their heads. A woman with a shining star on her vest came forth to welcome and inquire about our stay, but my Senorita feigned ignorance of the language and pointed forth toward the Gadea wagons, and when approached, the Gadeas leapt forth, shaking hands and showing off their steeds. I noticed the boys had reached a fine and large house, where a dark girl peered out at the caravan, and then pointed north beyond the town. The boys returned and explained the the family she was asking after was long gone, and that they did not have good news about her friend, but that a ranch north of town might still have some farm hands that were more familiar with them. The Rancho Escarlata (the Red Ranch), they called it, which did not make sense to me, though my mistress nodded and thanked them with a grave look. The Gadeas made it known that they would stay and trade, and my Senorita asked if I wanted to find a boarding house here in town, to stay with the families that were hosting the Gadeas, or be escorted closer towards Little Hillcrest._

_In the deepest part of my heart, I wished to stay with her, but she had made it clear that this was the end of our journey together, that New Jorvik was where we had agreed we would part. Guillermo had found his way to me and mentioned that we were offered lodging with a family called the Moorlands or with "the Baroness" (a title which brought to mind my hostess down South), but I wanted to have at least one more night with my friend. I begged him to pay a visit while I was with my in laws should he ever pass through Little Hillcrest, and he promised he would. We embraced and parted ways._

_And if I am to be honest oh holder of my secrets, I was more than a little glad to be back with my countrymen. In spite of the Senoritas lessons, I was still finding it difficult to catch all of their Spanish, as it flew from their mouths like frantic birds. They did not mean to exclude me, but while traveling they all tended to slip back into their native tongue. The view from our carriage window had changed from town to forest to a desert area to woods again. It was not the wild green of the Latin jungles, but the town itself was homey and comfortable, surrounded by lush forests and fields of grain, and in the process of growth (it looked as though they were rebuilding many of the buildings).  I found it almost surprising to be so at home among my own. My Senorita seemed to encourage this._

_"This is not the end of your adventure!", she said. "insist that your man include in his exploration. Demand it of him! You have an eye for details and a curious heart. You have a strength in you! I would bet my girdle that you would do well at documenting his travels". She said this as the now three-carriage caravan of humbler, wooden wagons turned onto a side road. Bare trees with lacy yellow-green branches lined the dirt path and I gazed at them instead of my sweet Senorita. I tried to swallow the heaviness in my heart, tried to be hopeful for the future. The young men had rode ahead to inform the Household of our arrival, and as the wagons halted she kissed me tenderly on the forehead. "And now, you are uncaged, mi palomita". She said._

_Now the folks that greeted us were not what I expected. A grouchy, elderly man named Jasper, a tiny redheaded child, and an older matron named Mrs. Holdsworth (whom I was shocked to find was kin! She is a second cousin to my Washington!). They seemed nervous but hospitable, bringing forth the cook, an older Mexican woman, to greet the party and make explanations. She embraced the Senorita de Arania at once and told us that the Lady of the House was out conducting business, and we were welcome to eat and bathe while they prepared rooms for everyone. Mrs. Holdsworth agreed to take me in and I accepted, dying to see who the woman was. The woman who would be henceforth enjoying all my Senoritas attentions._

_As I was lead through the house to the place where I would freshen up, I tried to peek in the doors and windows to the rooms. It was a grand villa, plastered with red clay on the outside, and within an ivory wash. There with a courtyard and beautiful stone fountain in the center. Hundreds of varieties of flowers and all manners of fruit and vegetables were growing around the fountain, like spokes on a wheel. Beyond this I could see orange, twisted fig, and towering avocado trees, and then field of horses, where the eight steeds that arrived with our party were turned loose to graze. It made me think it is high time I purchased a horse of my own, they offer so much freedom, it would seem. I peered in the rooms, darkened to keep out the warm sunshine... The outside of the home may have been humble, but inside were grand furnishings in the Spanish Mission style. Dark gleaming tables and chairs covered in rich velvets. Paintings, tapestries, religious icons, porcelain statues, many of horses... I wondered if this new Lady were a Jorvegian. It was an odd contrast, these lux items in such a simple adobe building._

_As we walked, the little girl joined me and took my hand, and babbled on about cats and horses and things. If I was correct she was the Lady of the House's daughter. Was SHE red haired as well?  Maybe she is an Irish temptress with fiery red hair and freckles. I touched my own mouse brown hair, unsure of it once again. The child was permitted to lead me through the grounds of the main house, then we passed the large stable and a smaller rounded dovecote, and onward towards Mrs. Holdsworths house. It was small and shabby but well appointed. The room I was to stay in was also small but had many lovely touches- calico print curtains and handmade quilts, and right outside was a large white-blossomed tree which shook its petals down like snow in a light wind. After my bath, she made me a snack of oatcakes and honey as if I were the little red head child (who ate more of them than I did) and some hot black tea with an unknown, but fragrant herb infused within it. It was delicious and soothing. The tub was enamel, not like the large copper tub I saw them filling for the Senorita. But at least it wasn't made of tin. And her kitchen did not have servants rushing about trying to make the blandest food possible for their foreign Lady, but was warm and cozy and smelled of bread, freshly canned marmalade, and comfort. Maybe this cousin of mine would let me learn how to cook, at the least. I realized I could likely stay here in relative comfort for a while, were she to allow it. My curiosity demanded it of me._

_A dinner was prepared for us, as the Lady of the house had not yet returned from her "business". Before then, myself and the Senoritas sons were being entertained and amused by silly Rose, the red head. The boys understood little of what she was saying but play is a universal language and they ran and tumbled and giggled in the grass meadow beyond the pasture. As my Senorita was still luxuriating in her bath, or dressing, or some such thing, I took Rose up on her offer of a tour. She directed us smartly to the dry river bed, the empty, former goats shed (she called it the "Ghost shed"), and pointed out the Lady's cattle on the other side of the river bed. She showed us Jaspers farm, teeming with green pumpkins, and finally- most delightful of all- the Rose Mountain. More of a hill, there was a path of red roses that grew all the way up to the top. Though they looked rather wild now, growing out from either side of the barely visible dirt path, I am certain someone began this endeavor with romantic intentions. It filled my heart with longing- to imagine taking the one I loved up along the path, hand in hand, breathing in the deep scent of the petals. Having a picnic up top, which seemed to be dotted with shady trees. Rose of course says it is named for her but I think that to be childish fancies. The overgrowth looks far older than she._

_The dinner bell sounded as I was showing them my green parrot (now named Jade and living on the porch of Mrs. Holdsworth), and we strolled back to the house along the wide dirt path hand in filthy hand. As we stopped at the well to pull up water to wash, we saw horses approaching, from the main road. The children ran in to inform everyone of the arrival of ... someone. I quickly undid and redid my plait, and worked to brush any stray twigs from my skirt. I could do nothing about the dust on my boots though I stamped in efforts to remove some of it. The Senorita came out and stood by me, and we both vibrated with anticipation, though we could not see the riders with any clarity. At first it looked like two men, or a man and a woman, then maybe three men. A man, a woman and a girl, it turned out. All dressed in masculine riding attire. The man was bearded and dismounted before the woman did. He helped her down. The girl behind was younger, and stayed mounted, though she nodded politely at us. She was dark skinned and wore spectacles, with her hair in twisted plaits wrapped over the top of her head. She wore a beautiful fitted purple coat and loose trousers. The woman was older than I, probably the Senoritas age, with dark brown hair tied back loosely, leaving curled strands falling over her plain face. Her cheeks were flushed from the ride and she wore no powder or rouge to sweeten it. She was clad in a loose mens button down shirt in a fine blue color, and brown trousers. With a gun belt around her thick waist, I noticed, wondering if she used it today... I backed behind my_   _Senorita, who had reached her arms out to the woman._

_"My Miracle!" Senorita de Arania said softly. The woman snorted._

_"My Dragonfly! Or is it Spider now? " She smirked as they met and embraced. "Tell me friend, when did you become the Black Widow?" The woman murmured._

_"When the bastard died and left me everything." The senorita purred in retort._

_Everyone else present, myself, the man, the girl on the red horse with the white mane, stood stock still, seemingly embarrassed to be witness to such intimacy. After a long moment, they detached and the Lady introduced her male companion, Jamie Applesky, a blacksmith and friend, and the girl- Linda Chanda. As she did so she thanked the girl for her "legal advice" and asked if she would like to stay for dinner. The girl declined with a smile and it was agreed that the man would escort her home, as the sun was beginning to set. He seemed a kind enough fellow, if a bit shy, and closer in age to myself than the Lady. I made the assumption they were all just friends. Hands were shaken and pleasantries exchanged before the man and the girl rode off. I was not introduced and felt forgotten, discarded._

_I cleared my throat and called out "Senorita?" and when she turned her head the woman laughed uproariously. One would think I made some hilarious joke... The lady shook her head as my senorita moved to speak. "This, Palomita, is my dear friend Mila..."  (at least what I heard was Meelah but the woman spoke over her as she reached for my hand). "Call me Miranda, dear one. Any friend of my Lilian is welcomed here as long as she pleases." Her hand was warm and her smile was genuine, not the laughter at my expense from moments before. She made a gesture for us to follow her to dinner though I imagined she wished to clean off the road dust and sweat, first. The only exchange that followed was puzzling and one that I will never forget: Miss Miranda walked ahead of us to open the doors, and as she did so, she said quietly "I hear tell you are on your third husband."_

_My Senorita, my Lily, sniffed as she glided through the door. She remarked in Spanish, but I caught it this time. She said_

_"And I hear that_ you _are a dead woman."_

The journal ends here, having only one blank page left, one filled with drawings of cats and flowers, which we assume were made by little Rose. Mrs. Jones DID stay on for a couple of months at least, according to a brief mention of it in one of her books. We know she purchased a horse, Dorado, to aid in finding work doing cow wrangling, and that she learned to grow and harvest native plants. She must have finally learned to cook, as she peppered her books with recipes she picked up in her travels. Virginia also learned to shoot and to do tin and silver smithing, possible while at Rancho Escarlata, as some tin mirrors and frames where unearthed near there, all bearing her initials. She tried to gain work as a school teacher, likely in New Jorvik, and its just as likely she was turned down (the schoolmarm was apparently a beloved fixture in the town). What she did NOT mention was whether she worked for the Lady of the house, was just assisting her elderly relative, or simply trying to stay close to her new friend. Or whether her employment extended to services at the Calico, as she wrote of a woman's right to sell her body with a great deal of sympathy. We also know that she continued North after a few years, living with and documenting the lives of the indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest and Canada, and wrote of preferring the cold weather to the heat of the "wild west" or the humidity of the Central American jungles. She became an activist on their behalf, and later a suffragette, fighting for all women to have the rights to vote. I hope one day to find more of her journals, the ones with tales of her travels to and from Washington DC, and about marches with her friends and fellow suffragettes. It would seem the only thing she did not do, was ever allow herself to be shut in while her husband explored. 

Unfortunately, there was less information on Madame Miranda then we hoped, but please see Nevada's notes about this. 

 

(Sorry I went off on a little tangent about Virginia, I just found her fascinating! Nevada will continue with the letters she found.) - A

 

* * *

 

                                                     

        Yes, Grandma Ginny was a pistol! And I thank you for your... discretion, but its a well known fact

in our family that she had the hots for that woman ;) -N.J. 

 

There is no record of the De Araña family because it doesn't exist. Lilian Corazon D' Araña (as she was know in Argentina) was a thief and a con artist. She stole (estimated) millions of dollars worth of gold and statuary from Churches and the homes of Government Officials in South America. I'm of the opinion that she befriended Grandma Ginny in order to gain access to the relics my Grandfather Washington would come to unearth. Though in Oaxaca and Pueblo, she was considered a "Robin Hood" of sorts, stealing from the rich to give back to the poor- we Jones's are strongly of the opinion that she took for her own private gain. Granted, she returned Religious icons to many an impoverished church, she still stole a great deal more than she gave. And though we found quite a few letters, nothing was written on what became of her husbands, so she may have been a murderer as well, for all we know. The only thing that remains constant was that her first name was Lilian, and even that was questionable. She held several surnames, likely her married names, but nothing on her actual given name. None of this is really pertinent to our research on the veracity of Madame Miranda, I just thought I'd mention it. 

Letter from Lilian to "M", dated a couple of months after the "war". We believe at least a year took place between the great event and Lilians visit. 

_My dear M,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and by that I mean well behaved but I have no expectations._

_It is to inform you that I am returning to that Hellish landscape known by most as_ America _to meet and, with hope, marry, my fourth and final husband- G. He is full of vigor and passion, and loves me, dearly. We met in Argentina and he has the most beautiful green eyes and can dance until the musicians drop. My betrothed lives in Phoenix, in Arizona, and so while I will be in America, I must stop and visit and drink from the rivers where we swam, before I journey into my ~~exile~~  joyful matrimony in the desert. _

_Your last letter was short and troubling, considering the one previously was three pages of bragging about your 'business' doing so well. So this visit is as much to quell my concern for you as it is to kiss your face._

_We are in Guatemala now but I am sending this letter along the Western coast, that it may reach you before we do. I am traveling with the Gadeas, a wholesome family who smell strongly of horse, though they are kind to the point of boring me to tears. They have sold me a fine, shining black mare which I have named Dragonfly. (Yes I still adore those creatures. Yes I still have the belief that they bring messages from the dead. They appear at every burial, and after all do we not all have folks we would like to hear from?  If you can believe it, I still have the wings you made me as a child though they've lost some of their color. I admit I stole them from the dovecote where we hid them. I did leave an item in your treasure box, in payment. Yes, it is childish but it is still a great wish to be able to fly to and fro along the rivers in order to travel but instead I will have to content myself with a rich carriage and a steady flowing of wine. It makes the time traveling pass more quickly.)_

_While in Mexico I will be collecting my two youngest from the orphanage. I still cannot comprehend why that man would put his own sons in such a horrid place. To punish me no doubt, but- he got what he deserved. I do hope that they remember me. My eldest son is riding around Sonora, searching for his father. May he finish the job that I started, gracias a dios._

_And.. I met a most odd girl, from over the sea-she is also reuniting with family up there in New Jorvik. She has become my latest pet and companion, as she hovers like a gnat around me and lingers on my every word. She is not unintelligent, though she is silly when she drinks and has proven useful in my desire for entertainment. This girl has a husband off in the jungle trying to find ~~our~~ the Aztecs gold. That is to say, she is as ... unfulfilled as I, and was wasting away in some rich pigs house in the jungle. I have rescued her and she is endlessly grateful. _

_My friend, again I think on your letter and I cannot help but feel as though you are keeping things from me, and this is a third reason for my visit. Be prepared to spill all your secrets, Milagro, for I have a few of my own. We will travel upwards towards Mexico City and then take the route towards the Eastern Coast, and enter America in Texas. Thus far I have no enemies to speak of in Texas and I will do all in my power to keep from shaking my rattles at the Marshalls. Bastards, the lot of them._

_With undying love and tenderness,_

_Lily la Araña_

* * * 

 

In this letter, which was found among items belonging to Mrs. Holdsworth, we are given the name Milagro (the Spanish word for Miracle)- possibly the real first name of the Madame. Among Mrs. Holdsworths things were drawings and letters from a child signing only M. There were no records of employment, leasing agreement or deed (if she owned the house), so this leaves us still wondering about the family's surname. I will check our family archives more thoroughly.

The other correspondence we have between Lilian and Miranda was this one, which was tucked away in a mahogany puzzle box (along with a silver spider brooch) in a piece of wall that we think was part of the Calico. (It's not dated, because apparently this blasted woman never dated anything. Grandma Ginny probably picked up this habit from her):

_My dearest M_

_I pray PRAY, mujer, that you believe me when I say I did not and would not take anything so valuable from you. When we were children yes, I stole small, trifling things- and always always left something in payment. But the contents of your chest was so important to you. I remember your tales of pirates and thieves and how you spoke of them with such assurance when we were children, it was as though you truly believed they existed in your little part of the world. Your "treasures", your chest- these were things held in such esteem, one assumed it was filled with your ancestors finest jewels and gold, and not just trinkets a child found in the riverbed. Blood was spilled over these things! It sounds as though I jest, but when your cousin threatened to open your precious box I split his lip with a branch! As you well recall. I would not ever have taken it. It hurts my heart that you thought this._

_I hold no ill will against you for this accusation. My visit last visit was cut short and I can understand how that would look suspicious- that the disappearance of the chest fell alongside it. Were I in your shoes, I may have thought the same But I am not the culprit. And I will help to find it when I next return. Be it next year or in fifty._

_Be well my friend, and take heart. The thief will be unmasked._

_All my love,_

_Lilian_

* * * 

If you ask me, Lilian had a long career of thievery and it extended beyond things that clearly belonged in a museum. Anyway, as this was addressed to Calico, we place its date at some point during the Brothels heyday. It also calls into question the extent of Mirandas wealth, and what else she was hiding. Much of the wood from the buildings that were destroyed was re-used, so we have to wonder how many more "puzzle boxes" of letters, gold, jewelry and cash were dispersed around the town? 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  (Note: Hey Nevada you seem to really hate this person, and like- she wasn't stealing from YOU.

Can you keep the bias down? This is History, not Nevadas opinion time -J. D.) 

~~I hate group projects~~

~~I hate group projects~~

~~I hate group projects~~

 

Ok. While you guys were busy ~~sitting around~~ looking through Virginia and Mrs. Holdsworth's notes, we went on a little roadtrip and dug through the area where a rock slide took out the little cabin east and south of the main Ranch (or where you all seemed to think it is). Underneath, among some splintered and rotted furniture, we found a few books and some paperwork and discovered it was called "the Dew Farm". Most of the books have been marked on the nameplate with "May Dew" and some were signed to May, from "Miss Starr" (her teacher: the teacher in town was a Miss Starr). None of them were journals though, which is unfortunate. 

Among the papers was a rental agreement to the Dew family- signed by a Martha and Eugene Dew. The name of the lender is illegible, which is also unfortunate. It looks like the last name "Lon" or "Ion B-----" (why did people not PRINT their names??). But its dated before the "Madames" alleged Birth year, so we don't feel like it was her, but her family that lent the house and property. We found two or three receipts of payment but nothing from the time near the 'war'. Maybe she let them stay for free? Anyway, the name is still illegible but in the later receipts it looks like "Richard... something".   
  


There was also records of their Cattle and Sheep- they started with several and they either died off, were stolen, or the Dews were just not that good at farm life. In their defense, there is a wide spot around the landslide area that is dry and brittle (in spite of the recent rain) whereas everything else is green. So maybe they just chose their plot poorly? 

At any rate, we dug a little more and almost lost Mike when we moved a rock away and a dozen more decided to fall. We found a home-made looking book of recipes, in a similar handwriting used to sign May Dew in the childrens books. It was recipes for tinctures and herbal remedies, along with drawings of the herbs. May maybe had a yen to go into medicine? In this book were collected little flyers and things, of stuff happening around town- like the "Circus Ydris", the "Magic of Isabelle Figg", ads for Hiring at the Kembell mines, etc. Most of them had words underlined (we're guessing May was trying to improve her vocabulary). Among them were two very interesting documents: A flyer for the opening of the Calico, and a receipt (dated 10 months prior to that) letting two dozen head cattle to the Dew Family. 

And it's Signed...  Milagro Miranda Del Castillo de Sombra Nacido ~~(BAM. NAME ACQUIRED.)~~  

- 

While this is a great discovery, the assignment was an essay. But I'll accept it. Also, 

please just type your entries from here on in (we can see your erasures and they're distracting).

- 

If you'd like to discuss my input, we can meet after class? Name a place and a time- Nevada 

 -

Ladies, please find some way to work this out in class. We're supposed to be working as a TEAM. 

 


End file.
